


#ship 1d with superheroes 2k18

by 1000_directions



Category: Aquaman (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:02:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: a collection of tumblr prompts about 1d and various marvel characters





	1. louis/wanda

**Author's Note:**

> _hm i could ship that_  
>  \- me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the louis/scarlet witch story kassie deserves

“Can you do the thing?” Louis asks one night. He isn’t looking at Wanda as he says it, his gaze fixed straight up at the ceiling, but his hand finds hers in the bed, and she feels the thud of his pulse against her own wrist, bounding and wild. She looks at his profile, traces the lines of his face in her mind. He’s so elegant, and he seems so composed, withdrawn almost. But his body doesn’t lie.

His heart has always been too big, is the problem, and even still, never big enough for all the love he tries to contain within it. It spills out everywhere, messy and fierce. His pulse shoots off like a fire hydrant, and she tracks the reckless thrum of it with her fingertips pressed to his inner wrist.

“I’ve got you,” she says softly, and she rolls fully onto her side. He does look at her then, and she sees something uncertain and broken in his eyes, and the pain of seeing him that way bores deep down into her. She’s going to fix it for him, even if just for tonight.

He shuts his eyes and exhales shakily through his lips, and she brings her hands up hesitantly. She concentrates her power at her fingertips and lets it trickle towards him, delicate tendrils prodding curiously at the corners of his mind. He’s locked up tight, so she plays with him, just nipping at the edges of his walls until he gets used to her being there. And slowly, slowly he lets her in, and her energy pours into him, finding the dark bits and flooding them with light.

“Please,” he says quietly, and she redoubles her efforts, sending her power coursing through him, teasing apart the knots in his mind and smoothing out the wrinkles. He’s bottled up so much for so long, but she’ll sort it all out. He tries to be so strong, but he doesn’t have to be. He’s still learning that he doesn’t have to be strong all the time, that the woman he’s with is strong, too, stronger than he can even fathom. She can carry him. He just has to let her.


	2. zayn/wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: ZEADPOOL FOR ALEX, things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

“This movie is sick,” Zayn mutters as he accepts the joint from Griff and inhales lazily. Onscreen, Wade and Vanessa celebrate International Women’s Day.

“Ouch,” Griff says with a wince as Vanessa adjusts her strap-on. “That’s fucked up, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Zayn says, running his tongue along his top teeth. “You just relax and breathe through it. It can be okay.”

“You’re so high right now,” Griff says, shaking his head. He reaches over and plucks the joint back from between Zayn’s fingers, which are dangerously close to the couch. He’d forgotten he was even holding it. “You’re cut off, man. And you seriously need to find another movie to watch. What is this, the third time this week?”

“Fourth,” Zayn says idly. Ryan Reynolds is fucking beautiful. They talk on Twitter sometimes. Zayn keeps meaning to give him his number, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

“You’re cut off from this movie, too,” Griff says. “No more weird fucking comic book shit for you.”

“I like weird fucking comic book shit,” Zayn grumbles.

“I’m gonna take a leak, and then we’re watching ‘Breaking Bad,’” Griff says, walking out of the room.

Onscreen, Wade gets strapped down to a table, and Zayn’s eyes dilate.

“You could do anything you wanted to me,” Zayn mumbles to the screen.

His brain is in a comfy, hazy place, but he’s still not expecting it when Wade Wilson on the screen turns to face Zayn and says, “Really?”

Zayn blinks and doesn’t say anything. Wade shrugs out of his restraints and sits up on his gurney, swinging his legs back and forth like a little kid.

“Don’t ignore me,” he says. “You’re looking right at me. I know you can hear me.”

“What is happening?” Zayn says out loud. “Is this really happening?”

“Of course this isn’t happening,” Wade says as he appears on the couch next to Zayn, who shrieks and pulls his knees to his chest. “I’m a fictional character, you beautiful idiot. This is a dream sequence.”

“Can I wake up?” Zayn asks. Up close, Wade’s eyes are gorgeous, sparkling with a teasing kind of mischief that he could really get into.

“Do you want to wake up?” Wade asks. He pulls on Zayn’s ankles until his feet are back on the floor. “Thought I could do anything I wanted to you. It would be such a cliche to wake up now.” Before Zayn’s eyes, Wade’s skin puckers and scars over, until he’s the Wade from later in the movie. “You didn’t even tell me yet that I don’t know I’m beautiful.” He shakes his head, and his skin goes back to smooth. “C’mon, a deus ex machina like this only knocks once. You want me to suck your cock and finger you a bit?”

“Yes?” Zayn answers hesitantly, because now that the image is in his mind, he can’t think of anything he’d like more. “Should we go somewhere? What about Griff?”

“This is  _not real_ ,” Deadpool reminds him in exasperation, because he’s Deadpool now, costume and everything. “Griff isn’t coming back in unless you want him to. You want that? Do you have a little exhibitionist kink going on, you dirty little monkey?”

“Can you suck me with the mask on?” Zayn wonders. None of this makes any fucking sense, but he might as well just go with it now. Maybe he’ll even get his dick sucked.

“I’m gonna blow your fucking mind,” Deadpool says firmly.

He rolls off the couch onto the floor, and then he plants his hands on Zayn’s knees, decisively separating his legs. He goes for Zayn’s zipper with his mouth, getting the tab between his teeth and wiggling it down inch by inch.

“I meant your dick,” Deadpool clarifies as he finally gets Zayn’s fly open and shoves a hand inside his shorts. Zayn gasps at the feeling of his gloved hand on his aching cock. “I’m gonna blow your fucking dick.”

“Okay,” Zayn says helplessly. Christ, this movie is sick.


	3. zayn/t'challa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: zayn/t'challa, things you said under the stars and in the grass

“Where do you think we go when we die?” Zayn asks eventually, just as the night air begins to chill T’Challa’s skin. They’d snuck out of the palace to lay in the grass and watch the sun languidly set over the far off river, but that was hours ago. It’s night now, and the Wakandan sky is lit up with its familiar constellations.

“You know what I think,” T’Challa says. They’ve had this conversation so many times before, but sometimes he indulges Zayn anyway. “Why do you ask me this again?”

“I just wonder,” Zayn says. “It feels epic here, you know? The tech and the food and the scenery and all of it. Feels like a dream. Just wondering what happens to us if we wake up.”

“We’re not asleep,” T’Challa says, though he understands what Zayn is saying. It’s a common comment from foreigners who aren’t used to the ethereal quality of the Wakandan air. Their brains reject the bounty before them, and they convince themselves that this is temporary, when this is all T’Challa has ever known.

“Do I get to keep you?” Zayn asks quietly, rolling onto his side. The stars illuminate the sharpness of his features, and in the low light, there is a feline quality to him. He almost looks like a panther in his own right.

“I don’t know what happens tomorrow, or the next day, or the next,” T’Challa admits. “I can only control the moment in front of me. This one, here with you.”

“Then do it,” Zayn says, tipping his weight until he settles lightly onto T’Challa’s chest. “Take control while we’re both here.”

“Is that what you want?” The subtle heat of Zayn’s body warms T’Challa’s blood, makes the words flow loose and easy from his mouth. “Do you want to submit to me?”

“I do,” Zayn whispers into the night air. “Your majesty.”


	4. louis/bebe/wanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: bebe/wanda or bebe/louis, things you said under the stars and in the grass

“Do you like this?” Bebe asks him for the hundredth time as she lies down in the grass next to Louis and takes his hands in her hands. Under her guidance, he runs his hands over her sides, and he can’t even breathe as she helps him palm her breasts through her t-shirt. She isn’t wearing a bra, and there’s a softness to her that her wasn’t expecting. She’s soft, soft, soft, everywhere but her nipples, which are rapidly hardening under his hands. He catches one between two fingers and tugs lightly, and she closes her eyes and moans. She’s so beautiful he can’t even wrap his brain around it. He’s wanted it like this for so long.

“What are you two doing?” Wanda asks slyly, and Louis shudders as he remembers that she’s here, too. Her hands are sure and steady against his knees, and her long hair just barely tickles his thighs. She pushed his trackies down past his ankles ages ago, but she’s just been chastely touching his legs ever since, and the tease of it is making him crazy.

“I’m going to kiss his face,” Bebe tells Wanda. “You should kiss him somewhere else.” Her hand slips down his body, down, down, and her nails are just starting to scratch at his lower stomach when it stops suddenly. Louis looks down and sees Wanda’s hand around Bebe’s wrist.

“What’s your rush?” Wanda asks. Her face looks serious, but there is something light and teasing in her eyes. “Make him work for it. Make him earn it.”

It’s embarrassing, the whine that escapes his lips at the idea of them denying him. But he wants to be good for them. He’ll be good for them.

“But I want to kiss someone,” Bebe says, pushing her lower lip out dramatically.

“Then kiss me,” Wanda says simply. She pulls her hands away from Louis’ legs then, and he shivers at the loss.

But then she’s lying down on Louis’ other side, and she and Bebe are inching closer to each other. Wanda’s got her elbow digging into his ribs like he’s not even there, and he loves it. Bebe cranes her neck to reach Wanda, and Louis lets his head fall back into the grass again as the two of them come together. Wanda sucks Bebe’s lower lip into her mouth, and Bebe giggles, then groans. She inches closer to Wanda pressing her palm flat to Louis’ chest to leverage herself, and all he can see is the way Bebe’s tongue flicks against Wanda’s, the wet noise of their mouths meeting as they lounge on him like furniture, ignoring him completely.

They’ve done it a lot of different ways, the three of them, but they’ve never done it like this. He fucking  _loves it_. If one of them doesn’t touch him somewhere soon, he’s probably going to die before he even gets to come, but it would be worth it.

There are a lot of different ways to be a powerful woman, he supposes.


	5. niall/clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niall/clint, things you didn't say at all

“You’re an Avenger!” Niall shouts, throwing open the front door to Clint’s apartment and stomping in. Clint winces. Aw, Niall, no. He hasn’t even had his coffee yet.

“Yes?” Clint ventures cautiously. “I know I am?”

Niall looks furious as he drops a gossip rag onto Clint’s kitchen table. They still print magazines? Niall reads print magazines? Clint’s meandering line of thought stops dead in its tracks when he sees the headline Niall’s so upset about.

**FORMER ONE DIRECTION HOTTIE CAUGHT MAKING OUT WITH LESSER KNOWN AVENGER HAWKEYE**

“Lesser known?” he whines. “C’mon. I’m just niche.”

“You’re a fucking Avenger!” Niall says again, his eyes wild.

“Technically, you’re…fucking an Avenger,” Clint says mulishly. “Anyway, what’s a one direction?”

“It’s a band,” Niall says, and Clint shrugs. “Like…a very famous band. You don’t know what One Direction is?”

“You didn’t even realize I was an Avenger after you saw my fine as hell body,” Clint sniffs. “Don’t you get testy with me.”

“I told you I was a musician,” Niall says. “I know I told you that.”

“Babe, do you know how many hot guys in their twenties in Brooklyn think they’re musicians? I figured there was at least a sixty percent chance you were homeless and angling to entrap me as your sugar daddy.”

“Do I look homeless?” Niall asks incredulously.

“No, but I don’t judge,” Clint says sanctimoniously. Fuck, this coffee is taking so long to brew. “I mean, I look homeless, but I own an entire apartment building. Plus I’m, you know. An Avenger.”

“Why did you keep seeing me if you thought I was just looking for a sugar daddy?”

“I like you, you weird Irish idiot,” Clint says, finally pouring himself a mug of coffee and forcing it into his throat, only dribbling a few mouthfuls down his chin before he gets the hang of it. “How did you not know I was an Avenger? You never Googled me?”

“I don’t work like that,” Niall says, and there’s a weird expression on his face. “I like getting to know someone. Checking the Internet is like cheating, innit?”

Clint swipes his hand absently over his chin, brushing away the burny trails of coffee still lingering there in his stubble.

“Okay,” he says, extending that same hand to Niall, who wrinkles his nose at it. “Hi. I’m Clint. I like dogs and pizza and coffee and shooting things with arrows. I’m an Avenger. Can I suck your dick?”

“With the exception of the part about you being an Avenger, I think that’s exactly what you said to me the first time we met,” Niall says. He still doesn’t shake Clint’s hand.

“I know,” Clint says. “I’m being romantic. What do you say?”

“Fine,” Niall says, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. He slides his hand into Clint’s, and the coffee squelches between their palms as they shake. “Hiya, I’m Niall. I like golf and pints and classic rock. I’m a musician. Like a proper musician on the radio and everything. Loads of fans. You should probably put your mouth on my dick before you say anything else stupid.”

“I’ll have you know I can still say plenty of stupid things with a dick in my mouth,” Clint grumbles, getting down on his knees.


	6. louis/aquaman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: louis/aquaman, based on pictures of louis and jason momoa wearing the same sweater

Aquaman can stay underwater indefinitely, but he starts suffering if he stays on land too long. As a result, he’s always felt that he can only fully embrace half of his half-human, half-Atlantean heritage. Luckily, he finds a mystical sweater that enables him to live on land if he so desires, and he decides to give it a try. There will always be a part of him that longs for the sea, for salt, for the way light moves differently through water than it does through air. His eyes always feel just a little bit out of focus, but there’s something so satisfying about feeling air on his skin. There’s something so peculiar and thrilling about feeling  _dry_.

He wants to do the things he couldn’t do before. He borrows a motorcycle and zooms up the PCH, pulling over to a campsite at sundown to make s’mores. He goes to western New York in December and builds a snowman. He visits a carnival and eats so much fried food that he nearly makes himself sick. He soaks it all up, every fantastical moment, because he doesn’t know how long he can stay. He misses the ocean, but when he leaves, he knows he’ll miss this, too.

He buys instruments, and he makes music. Air transmits sound differently than water does. It’s softer but crisper. There’s a precision to words and to music that he’d never known was there. He buys a guitar, and he plucks at the low E string with his thumb endlessly, listening to the way it vibrates, buzzing at the end of the note as it slowly works itself out of tune. He loves it. He learns chords, and he learns how to sing from the diaphragm he’s never needed to use before. He’s good at it. He thinks he might be good at it.

He starts doing small shows at the neighborhood coffeeshop (coffee! he never knew about coffee!), and he grows a small fanbase, and then a bigger one, and then he’s opening for underground bands that pass through town on tour. And a friend of his decides to try out for a competition, and Arthur (he calls himself ‘Arthur’ now, calling himself ‘Aquaman’ was too hard to explain) goes along with him, mostly for moral support. But a casting director likes his look, and someone gets him in front of a camera and asks him to sing, and then they want him to sing for someone else, and soon enough, he’s about to go on a big stage and sing in front of judges for a chance to be on a television show.

He isn’t nervous. He’s sorry that his Atlantean friends and family will never be able to understand this part of his life, that they will never have the context to grasp how momentous this actually is. This moment is just for him, then, and he’ll carry it with him when he goes. He slings his guitar over his shoulder, and he straightens the hem of his sweater, and he steps onstage.

There are four judges. Two are older men, one is a woman, and one is a young man who is wearing exactly Arthur’s same sweater.

Their eyes meet, and Arthur can hear the man’s thoughts in his head: _Shit, shit, he’s wearing one, too. Is he here for me? Does he know who I am? Fuck, i’m so fucked._

Arthur shouldn’t be able to hear him. He is only able to telepathically communicate with sea creatures, and this is a man, he thinks.

He projects his thoughts outwardly:  _What are you?_  and the man’s eyes widen. He blinks a few times, and then the man closes his eyes and breathes deep, and when Arthur reads his thoughts this time, he sees a small octopus hunting on the ocean floor, stumbling upon a bit of sea witch magic, and abruptly becoming something of a human. He’s another creature who is just trying to enjoy the world while he’s allowed.

_I'm Louis. I was an octopus, and now I’m a boy, and I'm always going to be something in between. I don’t really fit here, but I don’t belong there, either._

When the boy looks at him, even at this distance, his eyes are blue as water. He is focused perfectly in Arthur’s perception.

 _That’s okay,_ he sends back telepathically. _I don’t belong anywhere, either. Maybe we’re the same. Maybe we can belong to each other._

**Author's Note:**

> always accepting prompts at [tumblr](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
